Interlude—or, I'd Rather Kiss a Werewolf
by ttfn.tahtahfornow
Summary: They had drifted into each other's arms like smoothly rolling waves, pulled along by the uncompromising whims of the moon.


**Interlude (or, I'd Rather Kiss a Werewolf)**

_How fresh, how calm . . . the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet . . . solemn._

-Virginia Woolf, _Mrs. Dalloway_

. . .

It wasn't much. It wasn't even a story, really. More of an interlude.

. . .

When Lily thought of Remus Lupin, she thought first of scars. A set of parallel lines running down one cheek, a criss-cross patchwork of pink and white whenever his sleeve slid down his forearm. After scars, she thought of books and lessons and Prefect duties, all of which fell under the heading: "Remus Lupin is a smart and sensible young man who sets an example that his obnoxious friends would do well to follow." His obnoxious friends. What she thought of _third_ when she thought of Remus, though she didn't doubt for a moment that Remus always thought of his friends first.

. . .

They had drifted into each other's arms like smoothly rolling waves, pulled along by the uncompromising whims of the moon.

. . .

The time was two in the morning, give or take a few minutes, and Lily was sitting alone in the common room adding the finishing touches to her _stellar_ Astronomy essay (she loved to create corny puns in her mind and then snort at them to herself) when Remus Lupin stumbled through the portrait hole and fell onto the nearest sofa. She could hear his breathing—heavy, erratic—could see beneath his half-unbuttoned Oxford a damp and crumpled t-shirt, a shoulder wrapped in blood-soaked gauze.

Lily was a confident, self-assured girl—anyone who didn't believe that could just ask James Potter. Her voice rarely shook. She rarely spoke softly or with indecision in her tone.

But now: "Re—Remus?"

The boy on the couch turned his head sharply, his nose in the air as if to sniff out prey. When he caught sight or whiff of her, he sighed. "Lily," he murmured. "Hello." His mouth parted just slightly and the corners of his eyes pinched. Perhaps he was trying to smile. He quickly gave up, anyhow.

She put down her essay and tiptoed across the common room as though quicker, surer strides would somehow injure him. When she had reached his side, she noticed three new angry lines on his face, drawn from his temple to the edge of his lips, and a crutch on the floor beside him.

"Are you all right? What—what's happened to you?"

Remus hung his head and let his fringe fall into his eyes. "I had—an accident," he explained quietly. "Involving—um. Misbehaved animals. I'm all right, really. Just a bit of a klutz."

Remus Lupin never spilled his inkwell or tripped over his shoelaces or fumbled heavy-handedly through complex wandwork. Remus Lupin was one of the most graceful people she knew.

But she couldn't contradict him. Not now, at least.

"Do you"—she eyed the crutch—"do you need help getting upstairs? Back to your dorms?"

He tilted his head upward, just slightly, to meet her eyes with his. His, which were shockingly wide and red-rimmed. His, which were the color of honey inside and of eggplant underneath. "I can't go up there, Lily. I can't"—he fixed his gaze downwards again—"I can't face him. Not right now."

"Who?"

Remus bit his lip in deliberation. Eventually, he spoke. "Sirius."

Of course. Of course Sirius Black was somehow to blame for Remus' currently wretched state.

"He'll be asleep," she offered.

"I can't be sure," he replied. "And even then—."

Lily was a smart girl. And it didn't take a smart girl, or even a smart _boy_, to see that Remus Lupin was keeping more secrets—and more _serious_ secrets—than a typical sixteen year old. But she also had a good sense of discretion—something she'd learned from Severus, though she tried not to think of that now. She knew when and when not to open her mouth, and right now was most definitely a _when not_.

So she said nothing more, simply curled up on the unoccupied side of the couch and felt her eyelids grow heavy.

. . .

She woke up draped rather inelegantly across the otherwise empty sofa, covered in a ragged cloak that wasn't her own. Her neck felt stiff, and she was rolling her head from side to side when she spotted a scroll of parchment tucked carefully behind the nearest cushion. Her essay. When she unrolled the scroll, a loose bit of parchment fell onto her lap.

_Lily,_

_Couldn't sleep, and certainly couldn't resist having a look at your essay (in lieu of completing any of my __own__ homework, naturally). It's __stellar__._

_Remus_

. . .

First, she checked her calendar.

Next, she ran to the library and checked out as many books on Dark Creatures as she could find.

Finally, she went to breakfast.

. . .

Even at wand-point, Lily wouldn't admit to knowing anything about the dynamics of the self-proclaimed Marauders (except for, perhaps, the fact that they were a loud-mouthed and generally irritating band of boys). But she did know. She knew that Black and Potter were brothers in a way that she and Petunia would never be sisters. She knew that they always smiled on cue, with perfect synchronization; she knew that Pettigrew's smile came always half a second later, when he had spotted theirs; Remus', half an hour later, when Black grinned with mischief and gave him a big deliberate wink or put an arm around his shoulder and rustled his hair and whispered things—crass jokes, probably—into his ear. "_Moony_," Black would always say a bit too loudly. "Come on, Moony." And Remus would pretend to scowl and complain about the horrible nickname, but his smile would always show through.

No smiles from the Marauders at breakfast this morning, though. Entering the Great Hall, she spotted Remus sitting alone at the far side of the Gryffindor table, Black sitting alone at the near side, and Potter sitting next to Pettigrew in an awkward in-between spot, intermittently casting not-so-surreptitious glances first at Remus, then at Black, then again at Remus

Lily walked first to the near side of the table.

"Black," she spat.

The boy looked up at her with an expression somewhere between confused and extremely annoyed. His hair was a mess and stark shadows haunted his eyes and she didn't think she'd ever seen the outstandingly vain Sirius Black looking quite so _awful_.

"Can I help you, Evans?"

Her initial idea had been to slap him. Slap him and slap him _good_. She'd done it to his best friend often enough—in fact, Lily thought that she might actually be developing calluses on her palms from her frequent slapping of James Potter. But then she remembered that she really had no idea what was going on between Remus and Black and that Remus was just at the other end of the table and he would notice if she made a scene and Remus was so soft-spoken, he hated scenes, didn't he, and she wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable, would she? _Would_ she?

So she settled for a glare and a harshly spoken, "I don't know what you did this time, but you're an utter bastard and I hope you suffer for it." And Lily Evans did not throw words like "bastard" left and right.

Without allowing him any time to formulate a response, she quickly headed to the far side of the table and sat down.

"Hello, Remus."

"Oh—Lily." Remus greeted her with a pale face and something that wasn't quite a smile. "How are you?"

She grinned. "Stellar, actually."

And now he _did_ smile, if only for an instant.

. . .

Lily still didn't know what had washed over these boys and left them sad and soggy and completely changed. She didn't know what had put a sudden end to the demonic duo's five-and-half-year reign of terror against Severus Snape. She didn't know what had so suddenly and disconcertingly taken arrogant, bullying James Potter and shaped him into a conscientious young man who always turned in his homework on time and never deliberately mussed up his hair. She didn't know what had sucked out all of lively Sirius Black's charisma and left him a gaunt, laughless shell. She didn't know what made Remus flinch whenever any black-haired boy in a silver-and-green tie walked past, didn't know why now he ate and studied and conversed with her—o_nly_ with her, and whomever else she happened to be eating or studying or conversing with. He smiled a bit shyly at Potter and Pettigrew if he passed them in the halls, and sometimes they exchanged a few passing words. He never acknowledged Black, not even when the other boy opened his mouth to speak or intentionally reached out a hand and tugged on the threadbare cuff of Remus' sleeve.

Lily still didn't know what had happened—something terrible and irreversible, to be sure—but she just couldn't help reveling in the quieter and more orderly Hogwarts, in the pleasant and now constant company of Remus Lupin.

. . .

"Do you think I'm cold, Lily?"

"You can't be possibly cold," she said. "We're sitting practically on top of the fireplace."

"Oh, how the dagger of your wit pierces my very soul."

She put her Potions text on the floor beside her. "Really, Remus, I'm sure he deserves a hundred times worse."

He gave her a wry grin. "So that's a yes, is it?"

"_No_, it's not a yes," she said. The newest scratches on his face had faded from their earlier crimson to a dull, pinkish color and it occurred to her that now was definitely a _when_. "I just think that perhaps I could better answer these sorts of questions if I had a bit more—_background information_._"_

Remus' eyes widened momentarily. He wrapped his arms around his knees, which he'd folded in front of his chest, and for a nearly a minute sat there chewing his lower lip. "I—." He ran a hand through his hair. "I—I wish I could, Lily, you know I do. And I know that you deserve—. It's—Sirius gave away a—a very dangerous secret—of mine—to Snape and—and nearly got him killed and me—and me, as well, really. But James—I know you don't like to hear this, but he's a good person, really—James realized what was going on and saved him. Snape, that is. James and Peter and Sirius all know, and haven't—hadn't—said anything, and now Snape knows and—well, he hasn't said anything, though I've got no idea why. Dumbledore's got something to do with that, I reckon."

"I don't know," Lily said. It burned to admit this, now, but: "He's a good person, really."

Remus snorted. "I suppose that's what I get for trying to put in a word for James Potter. With you, at least."

Lily, who was lying on her stomach, stretched out her arms and laid her hands palm-down on the floor between them. On her left wrist she wore a silver charm bracelet. On her right middle finger, a thick silver ring.

"Remus," she said, "are you really _trying_ to keep—certain things—secret from me? Because if so, I don't think you're doing a very good job. I'm a smart girl, you know."

At this, he smiled. "I know, Lily. You're one of the smartest people I've ever met. But Dumbledore—he really went out on a limb when he let me into Hogwarts, and he did this on the condition that I keep my secret just that. A secret. And I've failed him three—four times over, now, if we're not also counting you." He looked down at her hands and spoke very softly. "I don't doubt that between your intelligence and my relative lack of discretion where you're concerned, you're more than able to determine what—what's wrong with me." His last four words were barely there whispers. "If you hate me, if you're afraid of me—I'd understand completely."

"_Remus,_" she cut in, "you know I couldn't—"

"But I trust that, either way, you can keep a secret," he continued. "Please don't make me say anything more, Lily. The Headmaster has been nothing but good to me, and I've betrayed him too many times already. Please."

"I'm sorry," she said. "Would you just—hold my hand, then?" She tried not to blush at her own request. She failed.

Lily had done her research. She knew that right now he was no more or less dangerous than any other boy his age. But when she saw the fire in his eyes, a shiver washed over her like a wave of cool water.

After a moment of terse silence, she took off her jewelry and dropped it into her bag. Immediately, and with a surprising amount of force, Remus snatched both of her hands with his, which were soft and unexpectedly warm. "Thank you," he said roughly.

When he let go and returned silently to his studying, the fireplace near them was still crackling cheerfully.

But Lily felt terrifically cold.

She did not wear the ring or the charm bracelet again, and pretended to herself that she was just making a polite gesture for a friend's sake, not hoping that now he would be inclined hold her hand more often.

. . .

Another thing Lily would never admit, even at wand-point, was that each member of Gryffindor's infamous band of troublemakers was, in his own way, quite good-looking. Sirius Black's good looks, of course, were classic—talldarkandhandsome; sleek hair, sharp cheekbones, striking gray eyes. _Dashing_, some of more frivolous girls might call him. James Potter—bane of her existence though he was and would forever be—had always possessed a casualcockycareless charm, a winning smile and hazel eyes that were big and honest behind his spectacles. Though nowadays Black's angular features seemed _too_ sharp, cutting, really, and Potter's winning smile and generally cocky attitude surfaced rather less often, and always a bit dampened. At least Pettigrew was still the baby-faced, chubby-cheeked boy, the harmlessly good-looking type that parents rejoiced to see their daughters bring home.

Remus Lupin was none of these. Remus Lupin did not have the stunning and attention-grabbing angles of Sirius Black or the confident smile and honest face of James Potter or even the safe and sweet countenance of Peter Pettigrew.

Remus had shaggy, golden-brown hair, fair skin that was perfect in some places and hopelessly marred in others. He had eyes that could burn or freeze and that were always wrapped in shadows. He spoke softly—was always polite, always gentle and a bit subservient—yet danger lurked tautly in each muscle, in every precise and carefully controlled gesture. Remus was lovely. He was a paradox. He was moonlight.

In his presence, Lily glowed.

. . .

On Christmas morning, much to Petunia's distress, Lily received a letter and a small package by owl.

_Dear Lily,_

_I hope you're having a happy Christmas. It isn't much, but I rather felt that, all things considered, you deserved at least this._

_Yours,_

_Remus_

She unwrapped and opened the flat, square package to find a bracelet of gleaming gold. A charm bracelet, in fact, which was already decorated with a single, tiny golden flower.

"That's _so_ corny, Remus," she whispered with a little grin. She put on the bracelet even before she penned the thank-you note and even though she was still wearing just her pajamas.

. . .

When she spotted Remus at Platform 9 ¾, she raised an arm, her wrist adorned with his bracelet, and waved maybe just a little bit madly. When he reached her, he gave her a little grin and a gentle hug, and took her hand in his as they boarded the train and sought a compartment.

On her seventeenth birthday, Remus gave her a new charm for her bracelet and a soft kiss on her lips. The charm was a crescent moon and the kiss was her very first.

The next day he found her at the breakfast table and began to apologize profusely—he shouldn't have done that, really, it was unwarranted and rude, and she would forgive him, wouldn't she, because he realized that she probably wasn't the least bit interested in him and if even somehow she was he couldn't do that to James, who was his friend, still his friend, and a good bloke, really, a good person and who was really very sincerely in love with her—

"I will _not_ let James Potter dictate my life," she growled. "And I had hoped that you wouldn't let him dictate yours, either."

Silence.

"Do you remember that time," she spoke quietly into his ear, "in Fourth Year, December, when Potter tried to corner me under the mistletoe and I slapped him and told him that I'd rather kiss a werewolf?"

Remus let out a soft chuckle and nodded. A faint blush painted his cheeks pink.

She kissed him there, in view of most of the Hogwarts population, and he allowed it. When she returned to her toast and glanced down the Gryffindor table, Lily saw James Potter and Sirius Black wearing comically identical expressions of disbelief.

. . .

Only for Remus would Lily voluntarily seek out and speak to James Potter.

"Potter."

He turned his head. "Evans—I mean—Lily," he said. His doe eyes looked into hers with no small amount of confusion. "What do you want? I mean—how are you?"

"I'm fine," she said briskly. She fiddled with her bracelet, which caught Potter's eyes and put a strangely serious expression on his face. "I'm concerned about Remus."

"Are you two dating?" he asked.

She frowned. She didn't have a proper answer. "It's not important," she told him. "What's important is that he seems to be worried that he's somehow betraying your friendship by—well. Is that what you think?"

His jaw dropped. "I would never think that Remus was—and anyway, there's not much friendship left to betray." He said this with a little sadness and a little bitterness, two things that she had never before heard in James Potter's voice. "I hardly ever speak with him or Sirius anymore. Talking to one feels like going back on the other."

"So you aren't angry with him?" she inquired. "You won't revoke your friendship or anything like that?"

"I'm not _that_ petty," James said indignantly. "I've never exactly hidden how I feel about you, have I, Ev—err—Lily, but you're free to do what you want, and so is Remus. Anyway, the bloke's been through—he's been through an awful lot. More than just about anyone else I know, at any rate. I reckon you're good for him. Just wish Sirius had somebody good for him like that, is all."

Lily couldn't find anything wrong with what he had said, so she simply nodded and walked away. It then occurred to her that she'd had an entire conversation with James Potter without at all being propositioned, and that, in fact, James hadn't asked her out once in over two months. She should have been elated at the realization. Really, the victory felt a bit hollow.

And—that was odd—when had he become _James_?

. . .

"I talked to James," Lily said. "Potter. Just for you."

Remus pretended to gasp. "_Just_ for me?"

"_Just_ for you," she repeated. "And _he_ says that I'm good for you. So. There."

He smiled. "You're _too_ good for me," he said. "Too good for me and too good to me. And so is James, for that matter."

She rolled her eyes. "Are there any people _not _too good for you, in your humble opinion?"

"Of course," he said with a sideways grin. "But very few."

. . .

Remus had always been a friendly acquaintance—a fellow Prefect and the single civilized being in Potter's bunch—but only recently had Lily started to appreciate just how much they had in common. For instance: their love of literature. Right now they were sitting on a sofa in the common room—_their_ sofa, the one nearest the portrait hole—and reading a shared copy of _Mrs. Dalloway_. The library probably had a copy, even if it was muggle, but lately Lily preferred to let Remus hold his copy between them; she would say _finished_ when she had read the two pages laid open, to which he would respond either with an immediate page turn or a mumbled _just a moment,_ in which case she would sit patiently until he finished reading and turned the page. Over the course of several weeks, they had read nearly 72 pages this way.

And Lily suspected that they had lots of things in common besides their love of literature.

"You understand, don't you?" she said abruptly.

Remus, apparently sensing an inevitable conversation, dog-eared their page and closed the book. "Understand what?"

"What it's like," she explained, "to feel as if—as if you have to prove yourself all the time. People like—your friends—never understood that, I don't think. They just waltzed right in and felt entitled. When I got to Hogwarts—I had to _prove_ that I belonged here. I had to study hard and learn the spells and do well on the exams or else they might just—take it all away. Rethink their decision to let me in, decide that I wasn't really a witch after all and send me back to my parents and my sister. You—you do understand that, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," he said with a little smile. "I understand completely. I told you—I told you what a risk it was for Dumbledore to let me into Hogwarts. And so I never—never really did want to do pranks and those things, you know, and James and Peter and—and Sirius all thought I was just a boring do-gooder without a proper sense of fun. But I was always afraid that after one too many detentions or—or after losing one too many House points, they—the staff, I mean, or Dumbledore, I don't know—would decide that I was more trouble than I was worth, that I was just—a liability. I was certain, back in November, when I woke up in the Hospital Wing and Dumbledore explained what had happened—I was _so certain_ that I would be expelled. And I've always wanted—I still want, especially now—to do _really well_ in school, to prove that the Headmaster was right to let me into Hogwarts, in spite of—in spite of all the trouble that inevitably followed."

"Oh, Remus." She smiled, almost. "Don't be ridiculous."

He smiled, almost. "Well I'm not a boggart, am I?"

She snorted softly in appreciation of his capacity for bad jokes. "What I'm saying is that there was no trouble that followed that was any fault of your own."

He frowned. "Well. I understand, at least."

Lily was always happy to have her suspicions confirmed, but she hated that Remus, who tore open his own skin on a regular basis, understood—that Remus, who had lost all of his best friends in a single night and would likely never be able to find a proper job no matter how many N.E.W.T.s he earned, had felt the razored edge of another of the world's injustices, however slight.

"Good," she said. "Glad we've reached an understanding."

Which elicited a somewhat crooked grin from Remus and a return to Virginia Woolf.

. . .

On Valentine's Day, she got chocolates and instructions to share from Remus and nothing, for the first time since at least third year, from James. Potter. And later Remus also gave her slow kisses that felt and tasted like melted chocolate, and Lily had nothing to give him but her hummingbird heart. It wasn't much, but she rather felt that, all things considered, he deserved at least this.

. . .

When Remus Lupin smiled at her, she felt tickled all over at once. When he hugged her, she felt cloaked in a childhood security blanket. The softest brush of his shoulder against hers as they made their way from class to class through the sea of students was a comforting message, a reminder. _You are not alone_.

. . .

January. The first time she visited Remus in the Hospital Wing (_scars_), she ran into—quite literally _ran into_—Sirius Black, who jumped about half a foot, and, upon collecting himself and recognizing her, muttered that she oughtn't bother, Moony was still asleep. Which was funny, because when she found Remus he was sitting up in bed with his eyes wide open and a welcoming smile on his face. He was a bit banged-up, but otherwise all right, and he let her hold his hand (which was warm), and told her that she oughtn't have bothered. Which was funny.

February. The second time she visited Remus in the Hospital Wing (_books and lessons and Prefect duties_), she ran rather less literally into James Potter, who gave her a smile and a polite nod and held the door for her without a hint of irony. Which was just disconcerting.

March. The third time she visited Remus in the Hospital Wing (_his obnoxious friends_), she did not run into anyone. She did walk in on two people, though, a couple of boys wrapped in a rough embrace and looking for all the world that if one were to let go, the other would simply fall, limp, to the floor. There were choked sobs and whispers: "_You shouldn't have—I told you not to—" "I had to I had to I had to—" "You could've been hurt," "I wasn't," "Sirius—" "Please, Moony, please, I just—I know it's better for you when—and it's your birthday and—I _miss you—" "_Did you bring chocolate?"_ And wet laughter. _"Is that a joke? I brought half of bloody Honeyduke's," "I miss you, too."_

They did not notice her and she did not want to intrude, so she left Remus' birthday gifts—an extra large slab of Honeyduke's finest and a hardback copy of _The Waves _with a message handwritten on the inside cover—in the care of Madame Pomfrey, to please be given to Remus Lupin sometime before he left that morning, if it wasn't too much trouble.

. . .

_Remus,_

_Happy birthday! I do hope you haven't grown tired of our furry friend Virginia. I personally thought that __Mrs. Dalloway__ was a howling success._

_Love,_

_Lily_

_p.s. I know that on a special day like today you'll be getting enough chocolate to feed a small country, and as such I fully expect you to share a reasonable amount (or at least a bite) with yours truly (which, you know, I am)._

. . .

They had drifted into each other's arms like smoothly rolling waves, pulled along by the uncompromising whims of the moon, and she could feel them drifting apart now, could feel that same gravitational tug drawing them into different tides and onto different shores.

And every time James smiled at her a little more winningly, and every time Black slung an arm around Remus' shoulder and laughed at something or anything or nothing at all, she could hear the hushed splash, could feel the gentle erosion.

Remus kissed the corner of her mouth and opened _The Waves_, holding the first page between them, and Lily knew that she would always wear gold jewelry.

. . .

It wasn't much. It wasn't even a story, really. More of an interlude.

But she would take it, and she would love it while it lasted.

. . .

_The wave paused, and then drew out again, sighing like a sleeper whose breath comes and goes unconsciously._

-Virginia Woolf, _The Waves_

(_end_)


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